


Sort Out Your Priorities

by yikesWazowski



Series: Because I think I'm clever [1]
Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Heather Duke, Comedy because im convinced im funny, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Heather Chandler and Veronica are too straight to function, Lesbian Heather McNamara, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, disney show spoof, jd has a criminal record, jd is a third grade edge lord, wattpad spoof
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesWazowski/pseuds/yikesWazowski
Summary: Her senior year was her last in stereotype infested Sherwood, as well as her last year to disregard adult responsibility. Even though childhood sucks, you never get it again. Thus, Veronica came to the painful realization that she'd never actually been a real teenager by the typical standard. Veronica had craved to be a bigger person, to be unaffected by Westerburg's bullshit. As much as she hated to admit it, a good, healthy, responsible life was boring. It made for boring stories. It didn't build character. Every Disney movie she watched with Martha seemed to mock her with their inherent need for adventure. Disney movies chanted it over and over in Veronica's mind. Veronica was boring and Veronica would be boring.But the Heathers weren't.A Heathers fueled story set in the modern era.
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer, Kurt Kelly/Heather McNamara, Martha Dunnstock/Heather McNamara
Series: Because I think I'm clever [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723195
Comments: 22
Kudos: 36





	1. Deal With The She-Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry. Well...maybe a little. This used to be named 'I AM BECOME HEATHER' but that was a little too intense to greet readers with.

School had only started two weeks earlier and yet, Veronica already had fallen into painful monotony. Every entry in her diary was another account of the same teenage angst and age typical superiority complex set to the trials and tribulations of being a nerd. Westerburg High had a hierarchy, only meant to be enjoyed by beauty queens and quarterbacks as if it were stuck to a very specific script that everyone had to follow. Amid all of the BO, swearing, gossip, and screaming were Veronica and Martha - the two most boring girls in Sherwood. The two girls were sisters in arms, best friends since they said their first words. Martha had to be the sweetest girl who faced the worst circumstances. She was forgiving and saw the good in everyone. Veronica did her best to do the same.

Inside of Westerburg was four villages worth of teenagers. Unfortunately, Sherwood wasn't the host town of the school - which meant a long drive every morning. Some of the students were farming kids, shop owner kids, mechanic kids, among other small businesses, but then there was the elite: the rich kids who only lived there because their hoity-toity parents decided they liked the folksy life or ‘being one with nature.’ Veronica knew it was wrong of her, but she despised those kids. Aside from differences in class, everyone was the same - teenage zombies with more feelings than they could handle. Some resorted to tears, maybe sports, but unfortunately, most decided to express it through insults that they hurled at anyone lower on the pyramid (Martha and Veronica, for example).

So every day was an insult, in a literal sense, and in its endless repetition. School was a chore and Veronica wanted to like it that way. Veronica recognized that high school was only a tool, a step-ladder to lead her to a happy, moderately-successful future. In her opinion, anyone who _really_ considered the best years of their life had never heard of the freedom of college, but would also likely never be accepted into one either. Highschool was shallow. Highschool was stupid. Highschool was a glamorous Hell. 

However, part of her also realized that her senior year was her last in stereotype infested Sherwood, as well as her last year to disregard adult responsibility. Even though childhood sucks, you never get it again. Thus, Veronica came to the painful realization that she'd never actually been a real teenager by the typical standard. Veronica had craved to be a bigger person, to be unaffected by Westerburg's bullshit. As much as she hated to admit it, a good, healthy, responsible life was boring. It made for boring stories. It didn't build character. Every Disney movie she watched with Martha seemed to mock her with their inherent need for adventure. Disney movies chanted it over and over in Veronica's mind. Veronica was boring and Veronica would be boring. 

Disney wasn't alone in this assessment either, the entirety of Westerburg's student body teased Veronica and Martha relentlessly. Or at least all of the ones who even knew their names did. Veronica would like to say that it didn't matter nor did it bother her, but that wasn't true. Veronica was a vulnerable hormonal mess, and it hurt. It really did. It hurt all of them: the losers, the cliques, the cool kids - everyone. 

Of course, there's the Heathers. They don't have to take any shit from anyone. The Heathers get attention, excitement, and teenage fun. They break the rules - they break the _law_. They had followers, in real life, and on every social platform graced by their presence. The Heathers were beautiful in a small town where being trendy was a rarity. Veronica was not cute. She was usually left on the sidelines, and she didn’t mind it. Soon, in college, she and Martha would find someone - she was sure of it. Kind of. 

The Heathers were interesting, and Veronica watched them from the wayside. She started to understand why they were worshipped, no one else in the middle of nowhere, Ohio is living like them. No one else was as pretty or as confident. Veronica built it up in her mind that they had it all. She came up with a stupid idea of how great it would be if she were one of them. Even dumber was the concept that she could just join them and they would be the Heathers & Veronica. Then, of course, she had these stupid, self-centered daydreams about using her influence as a Heather to make Westerburg a nice school. Maybe even helping Martha the respect she deserved. The daydream that she could make her boring life in a shitty school in a closeminded town beautiful.

The possibility of such a dream coming true, no matter how slim, wormed it's way into her brain until it took up permanent residence without even paying rent. So that's why Veronica took a chance when she saw Flemming approaching Heather, Heather, and Heather, likely to scold them for skipping class. Veronica had fantasized about this exact situation (it was a daily occurrence), and on a whim, she threw caution to the wind and decided to act as she would in her head. Walking into the bathroom, she scribbled down her saving grace on a blank page of her diary.

"Hello, girls," Flemming was annoyed, but in a flat, defeated way. The counselor had been that way since her divorce. It was this or sweaty and dejected. Her divorce was also why she'd developed a short temper. "Miss the bell?"

"Actually, we were helping Heather," The lilting voice of Heather Chandler was cool, commanding, and confident. "She's sick." Condescending, too. Talking to a teacher that way was a definite power play.

"How sweet," Sarcasm. For a hippy, Flemming was really aggressive. "But you should have just sent her to the nurse and then gone to class." The "nurse" she was referring to was a band-aid from the office and then a call for your parents.

Heather McNamara spoke up next. "We were also out on yearbook business, ma'am."

Flemming didn't buy it. "Only one of you is on the yearbook committee."

Heather Duke knew it was a sinking ship, but she wasn't about to abandon it. "I needed help." Her tone bit.

Flemming sighed. "Just admit you don't have a hall pass and then get to class." She cracked a brief smile, though it's unclear it was because she'd caught them or for the accidental rhyme.

It was then or never. Running on solely adrenaline, Veronica made her move. "Actually, Ms. Flemming, we're all out on hall pass. Together. For yearbook stuff." Other than a voice crack, Veronica was as smooth as butter.

"Really?" Veronica couldn't tell if Flemming or the Heathers were more surprised. Flemming read over the note before looking up at Veronica and reading it again. "I guess this means you're all excused. And none of you are in trouble. Be sure to hurry up and get to class soon.

Flemming left, she was so startled that she forgot to return the note. Veronica was still on shock from the event too, to be honest. That was the first time that she had ever pulled such a stunt - she never felt it necessary before. Teenage rebellion was pointless in her eyes, and it had no place in her life plan. Until now. And that was enough to cloud Veronica's mind. How did that work? She expected mortifying failure.

"We were out on a hall pass?" Heather McNamara spoke up first, snapping Veronica out of her bewildered stupor. Heather McNamara wore yellow. She was also the cheer captain; she added enthusiasm to everything with her perky attitude. She was the kind of girl that you couldn't possibly hate upon your initial impression. Heather was nice to everyone, pretty, rich, and had a pretty good moral compass. The only thing that subtracted from her magnetic personality was her awful friends. 

"No, Heather," Chandler rolled her eyes. Heather was the most gorgeous, glamorous, and most vengeful person Veronica had ever met. Her hair always looked perfect, her outfits were always perfect, and she was always perfect. Teachers and students hated her, but still, they were all ruled under her perfectly manicured fist. She was a major bitch. She stared Veronica down like she something to eat. "Who did you have to blow to get that note?"

Veronica swallowed. "I wrote it." Chandler's eyes widened. The three Heathers shared a look.

Chandler cocked an eyebrow. "Prove it. Write another where we can see it."

Veronica had Mrs. Thorrup's handwriting down cold. It felt like her hand was moving on its own. The hall pass wrote itself through Veronica and all of the Heathers watched it happen.

Veronica had developed her knack for forgery in fifth grade. She thought that having better handwriting would make her more friends. A young Veronica then committed herself to master other people's handwriting until she found one that she liked. After a while she found it to be therapeutic in an odd way. Forging signature was her Tibetan sand art, plus she got neater handwriting. She didn't make any friends for it, though.

When she finished, she couldn't help but feel pride at the Heathers' collective awe. Heather Chandler smirked. "This time the fan is the one who writes a signature, how strange."

Duke laughed. Heather Duke was Chandler’s almost perfect, jealous clone. She wasn’t as tall, or as thin, or as confident, or as impressive as Chandler, and everyone knew it - especially Heather Duke. As far as Veronica could tell, Duke was really smart. She seemed to like reading - something Veronica could relate to. No one cared about Heather's brain, that wasn't superficial enough. "That's funny, Heath-"

"Shut up, Heather," Chandler's reaction was mechanic, keeping her lackey's in line was a part of her well-oiled machine. Duke muttered a soft apology. Chandler continued with her desired silence. "Jokes aside, why did you do that? Don't tell me you want clout or something."

The swell of confidence, the adrenaline, the perfect segue - now was the time for Veronica to realize her vision. _Don't fuck this up._ "I crave a boon."

"What boon?" Heather Chandler's tone was sharp enough to kill as if drain Veronica to waste her precious time. McNamara quietly asked Duke what a boon was, and Duke gave her a hushed reply.

Veronica couldn't imagine outright asking to join their clique. Now she understands how stupid of an idea that was. That would be insane. She'd be laughed out of town. _Her name wasn't even Heather._ "I want an alliance. I want to sit at your table, even just once. No talking necessary. Anything to make people leave me alone." She made a more reasonable request, albeit confused. 

None of them looked convinced or even amused. Veronica continued. "I do more than hall passes. Report cards, doctor's notes, permission slips, and absent notes - even essays. I can manage anything." Intrigue breathed life back into the clique once more. 

"Even, like, prescriptions?" Duke asked hesitantly.

"Shut up, Heather, I'm thinking." 

_Was Veronica dreaming? Was this working?_

Chandler smiled. "Blue would be good for you."

"Thanks, I hear it's my color." Veronica loved blue, it could convey so many feelings and ideas. And it was really flattering on her.

Duke looked annoyed while McNamara was over-joyed. Chandler ignored them entirely, "For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure."

Heather McNamara decided to add her input. "And you're face is practically perfectly symmetrical. I could cut it down the middle and have matching halves; that's important."

"Wouldn't hurt for you to lose a bit of weight, though," Duke commented bitterly. Last year Heather Chandler accidentally on purpose let everyone know that Heather Duke had an eating disorder. Now she was damned to weekly meetings with Flemming - a fate worse than death.

"Giving this loser a makeover sounds more fun than school. More rewarding, too," Chandler mused. McNamara nodded happily.

"We can't! Like you said, she's a loser," Duke pleaded.

To Chandler, it was like she didn't say anything at all. "I feel like blue would really balance us out."

"Her name isn't even Heather," Duke gestured at Veronica irritably. 

"People on Instagram would adore me while I gave her a makeover. Especially with a before and after," Chandler mused. "It'd be like charity work."

Duke stomped her foot for emphasis, "She is friends with _Martha Dumptruck!_ "

The room went silent. Chandler stared at Duke until she shrunk. " _So were you._ " Veronica watched the display in euphoric horror. Duke seemed to give in entirely with a whispered apology to Chandler, which was promptly ignored.

"You have great potential to be someone," Chandler stated at Veronica. "Specifically one of us - so you will be, okay?"

Veronica spoke before she could think about it. "Okay." As soon as she comprehended what was happening, she was elated. Surprise became a confused kind of ecstasy. She wasn't about to question the most miraculous thing that had happened simply because life rarely gives things to her free. 

"By the way," Chandler continued with flourish. "What the fuck is your name?"

"Veronica. Veronica Sawyer."

* * *

Beauty appointments, pictures, stories, posts, boys, drama, gossip, clothes, rules, Heather, Heather, Heather, and Veronica. Veronica could only keep up in the beginning, but after an hour, she was dragged left and right without a real idea as to what was going on. She had to try things on, pick out clothes, find makeup while still keeping track of every party foul and fashion faux pas. Occasionally she was asked questions about herself to which her answers were always met by responses that were politely negative. Every question she asked them was always answered with either laughter or "duh."

Fashion was everything to the Heathers, especially Chandler. Their aesthetic had to be classic, but trendy, and never retro. It was also imperative that everything they wore was in season and in their color. Everything had to be run by Chandler otherwise it wasn't in their wardrobes at all.

Everything was in full swing. Veronica was starting to get the hang of things when it came to shopping, she even stopped feeling guilty about all of the money they were spending on her. Then Heather Chandler made another decision for Veronica. "You need a haircut. Something that makes you look less like a horse girl, preferably." 

They took Veronica to the salon. They left her with Heather Duke. McNamara and Chandler announced that they were going to get supplies to help makeover her bedroom as well. That might have been overkill especially considering that they hadn't even seen her room, but Veronica didn't mind. She was genuinely having a good time. They had to wait for her haircut, and neither Duke nor Veronica picked up a magazine. The silence between them was thick.

Duke broke it. "Sorry, for being a bitch earlier. You seem cool."

This was unexpected from Heather as well as in general. "Oh, uh, thank you. You do, too."

"Sorry about all of this. Heather likes things a certain way as soon as possible. She's pretty spoiled, really."

"Oh, it's fine." It was fine. Veronica liked feeling so accepted. "But we don't have to talk about Heather."

A soft smile played on Duke's lips. "Oh, if only. She probably takes up the majority of my thoughts. Sometimes I miss days without her."

Veronica felt her nose scrunch. "Why don't we just talk about you? She's not really in charge of us, it's just something we go with."

If Duke had softened at all it didn't matter. She stuck up her nose. "There is no 'us' and there is no 'we.' You've been here for less than a day, _Ronnie._ Have you ever considered that maybe I just don't want to talk to you at all?"

_Maybe Heather was a bitch._ Veronica tried to save the conversation anyway. "Can I at least ask you what kind of books you like?"

"No." She didn't miss a beat. Veronica doesn't know how long it took for her to be called to get her hair cut, but it felt like at least a million years. 

The haircut was more than a haircut. It was some sort of whole beauty thing, Veronica wasn't really sure. They did her nails, threaded her eyebrows, she even got eyelash extensions. She felt like she had been reborn - her skin was softer, her head was lighter, her nails were prettier, and her eyelashes were longer. When she looked in the mirror she almost cried, she was beautiful. Heather, Heather, and Heather all seemed pretty impressed by the transformation. Veronica was convinced that none of this was actually happening because of how surreal it all was. 

They gave her new clothes, new jewelry, even new furniture (most of it was blue). They added her to the group chat. They said they liked her yard. Her mom and dad adore them. And there was absolutely no way around it: Veronica had made new friends. Her new friends had invented a new, better Veronica, one that was going to take the world by storm.

* * *

If Veronica thought school was horrible before she was a fool. She'd sooner be boring than have to deal with Heather's demands, Heather's whining, and Heather's gossip. Highschool with playground drama was torture. All of it was the same. "She kissed him?" "He kissed her?" "He has a girlfriend?" "She has a boyfriend?" "I heard she's pregnant." "I heard he's gay." Who cares? Not only is it entirely useless information, but it's also the intimate details of their tormented peers. 

Every day Courtney whined about something. Every day some moron tried to convince Veronica to stick her hand in their pants. On a different timetable Veronica didn't yet understand Heather Chandler had a new boy toy - the current model being Peter Dawson. Every other week Kurt and Heather McNamara would either break up or get back together. The only thing that made it slightly worth it was that Heather Duke and Veronica got to talk shit about it all during French.

However, none of it was a worthy trade for losing Martha. The former best friends had daily phone calls early in the mornings while they made their beds, and at night while they did their homework - and both of those depended on whether the Heathers didn't want to talk to Veronica at the same time. Veronica and Martha only really ever waved or nodded at each other in the hallways. As absolute salt in the wound, Martha was happy for Veronica. Martha was supportive as her best friend left her behind. That was what really made her feel like the worst person alive. That was it.

Being a Heather made going to school like a desk job. Clock in, pain, clock out. Every damn day. But with all of the drama, praise, and beauty it was also like being the villains in a shitty, girl-hating chick-flick. Hurray for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't this so clever and original? Wow, I am so clever and original.  
> I was raised on the disney channel and it shows.  
> If you want me to continue let me know it makes my heart happy, but if not know that I'll write no matter what and you can't stop me.


	2. A Welcome for the Weird Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is over twice as long as the first. I like to reference the book and movie. Kurt and Ram are in this with their usual accompanying slurs, so heads up. Enjoy the ride, I guess.

Sherwood was a lazy town that was outlined with white picket fences. The residents of the tiny town were well acquainted with each other. Gossip was delivered with newspapers and whispered about like their fellow residents were cryptids. Knitting and scrapbooking circles were the breeding grounds for the rapid spread rumors, but they spread like disease. If the news were interesting enough, the youths would even pick it up and casually belittle the subject of conversation. No matter how nice anyone was in Sherwood, they were likely a gossip, too.

Sometimes, a nosy neighbor would even say that they do it out of love and concern, but no one actually believed that (especially not the person telling the lie). Men would argue that they just overheard it from their wives with some line about how the listener knows how women are, but that was a weak excuse. Everyone, at least once, had the busy body way of saying, “They made it our business when they weakened such a great community” or “We’re a community - we share.” That was all an obvious lie, but no one would ever call it out. 

Veronica had always been a gossip, but the Heathers didn’t help with the bad habit either. A tedious subcategory of this phenomenon was the schoolyard gossip, kids would do anything to let everyone know anyone’s business. This version of shit-talking was way more severe, but the interest also died out much sooner. And it all sounded the same. Veronica hated it unless it was about Heather Chandler. It wasn’t terrible in itself, just mind-numbingly repetitive.

Every lunch was made to be the day’s news segment by the group of friends. Heather (any Heather, take your pick) would talk about something else only to be cut off by Heather (any Heather, choose your fighter) which would remind Heather (any Heather) of some other tangent. Then one would ask for Veronica’s thoughts and she would try to instill good values with a noncommittal statement. Rinse and repeat.

One particularly dull lunch on a particularly tiring day of drudgery (Veronica didn’t get to call Martha that morning), the usual pattern began. Heather Duke was the first to contribute. “My dad says that some guy is moving into Sherwood.” This particular spot in Ohio didn’t get a lot of traffic, so that was interesting news. However, it wasn’t much for conversation. 

“Yeah, he moved in pretty close to Ram, actually,” McNamara added bouncily. 

“And he’s not a farmer,” Duke added. “So that’s kind of interesting.” The majority of people who moved to Sherwood were there for the unclaimed acres. Any more fields of corn and Veronica would be seeing purple from the sensory deprivation from the overload of yellow.

“Maybe he’ll open a restaurant,” McNamara smiled at the thought. Veronica agreed with the sentiment, the collection of towns could use more than two restaurants - especially since one was a bar.

“His car is pretty small. Dad says he probably just bought all of the furniture in the house,” Duke continued. Veronica was uncomfortably surprised that people could do that but supposed it made sense.

“That’s pretty weird, you’d think he’d have furniture,” McNamara squinted her eyes a small amount, something she did when she focused.

“Maybe he’s young and never had a house before,” Duke suggested.

McNamara scrunched up her nose. “With that much money? He probably just ditched his family and wanted a fresh start.”

“Oh, my God, who fucking cares?” Heather Chandler cut in abruptly. “There is a party Friday night, being thrown by Ram, by the way. We should be talking about that. We haven’t even decided what we’re wearing.”

Outfit checks were mandatory so as to not embarrass Heather. Veronica had definitely joined a cult. Veronica had to wear blue. She had to be hot, but not so hot that she overshadowed Heather. And they all had to have matched on the formality of the outfit.

The Heathers decided on short dresses - no longer than three-quarters of the thigh - as a tired Veronica nodded along. They talked about the looks of their dresses, showing pictures of what they had in mind. Chandler texted Veronica of the dress that she would wear to the party. “Buy that, you’ll look less like a drowned rat if you wear that.”

Veronica sighed. “You already made me get a dress that almost looks just like it for another party. Why can’t I just wear that one again?” Playing with fire, but it was worth trying to get Chandler to see reason.

“Do you know how stupid you’d look? Everyone would notice and think it’s hilarious. I’m protecting you, Veronica.” Chandler spoke in a sickeningly sweet voice with poisonous words.

Veronica was going to try to defend herself but was interrupted. “Hey, Heather.”

Courtney had decided to join them. In the society of Westerburg, Courtney was just below the Heathers. She was constantly trying to join them, but all of them hated her. They constantly talked about Courtney as Veronica vaguely wondered if how much of it was true.

“What is it this time?” Chandler said with a tight smile.

“Well did you hear about the new guy?” 

“Yes, we did actually. We’re over it, it’s boring.” Chandler said plainly.

Courtney’s smile dipped briefly. “Well did you guys know that he moved in with his son?” 

Duke shook her head, “I hate kids.”

“Well, my mom said he looked to be about our age. From the distance, she saw them from.” Courtney added with a self-satisfied smirk. Chandler quirked an eyebrow.

“We already said that we don’t fucking care. Do you not speak English or something?” Chandler nearly yelled at the girl. “Get lost, okay?” And with that Courtney was gone.

* * *

The next day, upon arriving at school, Veronica was exhausted as she approached the hideous building. The school must’ve been built in the sixties, and then abandoned entirely. It had no working air conditioning, several broken ceilings, confusing hallways, and hot pipes from the boiler room snaked around the school. For obvious reasons, she wasn’t thrilled about going in. Fortunately, she found a way to stall in a forming crowd in the parking lot. She approached the unfolding scene. Probably another fight. She would just see what the gathering was for and leave.

Past her peers was not a fight, and honestly, Veronica should’ve known it wouldn’t be. The crowd was small with kids constantly peeling off to head inside. What was catching so much attention was a motorcycle. It was sleek yet vintage. Most of it was black with subtle, expensive-looking detailing. Veronica could only imagine how brutal her death would be if she knocked it over. The bike looked to be a classic model, she heard one boy say that it looked like it could go really fast, as in barely street legal. Which then begged the question, who the hell in rural Ohio was riding a motorcycle?

Veronica went inside the school and was almost tempted to look for the owner. Duke grabbed her first. Commence the usual business. Party talk, who was a whore, and all of that jazz. The day continued in a similar vein.

Mrs. Dunnstock was the registrar at Westerburg, which is essentially the least involved office job possible. Involved with the kids, that is. Of course, Mrs. Dunnstock was very sweet to all of the kids she saw (most of which were on their way to the principal’s office). But her job was transfers and parent phone calls. She also printed the papers that said that you needed to be vaccinated to attend school. Sometimes she even did announcements. The kids didn’t love her, but they didn’t hate her either. She was the nicest person in the office.

With her in, occasionally (if it wasn’t confidential), Martha had the most information on things having to do with the school. Martha knew about assemblies, fire drills, office hours, and how to get into the teacher’s lounge among other things. Another random example of the things she knew was new students who were doing the paperwork to attend the school. 

That evening, after they helped each other with their homework, Veronica had to ask her. “Hey, Martha?”

“Yeah, Veronica?”

She scrunched up her face, moving her free hand in a prompting motion. She hoped her embarrassment didn’t translate over the line. “There’s a new kid, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. I was there when he came in to hand in his birth certificate and medical records and his transcript.” Martha paused. “My mom said that it was really weird that he did it by himself, and he insisted that his dad was a busy man.”

“That is really weird.” What kind of kid does all of that themselves - Veronica’s mom still ordered her pizza.

“Yeah, but he was kind of strange in general. He insisted on doing it early in the morning, and his transcript was really messed up, apparently. My mom couldn’t tell me why it was so shocking, though, that’s a crime.”

“Oh, okay.” Veronica was gearing herself up to voice the question that was prying at her.

“He made my mom laugh a lot. My mom said he was really charming.” Martha scoffed. “She even implied that the girls would be very interested in him, so, y’know. . . That’s weird.”

“Sounds like he’s a guy shrouded in mystery.” Veronica partially committed to the question. “What does he...?” She still couldn’t.

“Huh?”

“What’s his name?” Another important question.

“I actually don’t know.” Another thoughtful pause. “I didn’t want to talk to him.”

“That’s okay.” Veronica blurted. The discomfort of trying to get his name so she could try to stalk his Instagram was making her jumpy and awkward. More awkward than usual. “What does he look like?”

“He’s actually kind of - well, I don’t know.” She sighed. “He’s scary looking.” Martha was very vanilla, for lack of a better term, and liked to live on the less wild side of things. So scary looking could mean anything to her: rich, goth, athletic, popular, etc., etc. 

“Scary looking? Like how?” 

“My mom said that he was really nice, but I kind of doubt it. He looks like a delinquent.” Veronica still didn’t know what to picture - a scary biker, or a horrifying goth who thought he was a vampire, or a generally off-putting presence. 

“A delinquent?”

“Yeah, he was dressed in pretty dark clothes,” Martha mumbled. She didn’t seem to commit to any of her descriptions.

Veronica started to hope she didn’t share a class with him. She already had a mental image - a loud, obnoxious, self-proclaimed ‘ladies’ man.’ Veronica cringed. He probably dressed in all black and thought Queen was indie. His hair was probably acid green and styled into ‘spikes’ that fell with a gust of wind. Probably a nerd who had decided that he was a bad boy by reading a Thought Catalog article. 

Still, she had to ask to appease her gnawing curiosity. Veronica bit the inside of her cheek. “Is he, you know,” she felt like an idiot for asking, “cute?”

“Oh.” A pregnant pause, every second Veronica wished she could cut out her own tongue. “I really don't know.” Another shorter pause. “That’s also kind of, um, a subjective thing.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Damage control would be hard. “That was stupid. It really doesn’t even matter. It’s, like, ‘whatever,’ y’know?” Especially when Veronica was this bad at damage control.

“Yeah.” Martha must’ve taken pity on her. “I totally get that.”

Having learned nothing, Veronica continued talking. “Is he,” she made faces to cope with how uncomfortable she was, “tall?” Veronica wondered how easy it would be to fake her own death and skip town.

“I mean,” Martha swallowed. “Yeah, he is.” 

“ _Cool_.” It came out slow and awkward. Veronica did her best to make it feel natural. “I wish I were tall.”  
Martha laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, you’re pretty short.”

“Yep,” She popped the ‘p.’ “Sure am.”

“Well,” Martha said. She seemed totally genuine as she spoke. Her kindness almost made Veronica feel less like a fool. “My mom is calling me, so we’ll talk later, alright?”

“Yeah, sounds great. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Veronica.”

Veronica mourned the loss of her dignity as she tried to nurse her pride.

* * *

Morning announcements were the best way to wake a person up while simultaneously being the best way to convince that person that the world isn’t worth getting out of bed for. It was usually unplanned aside from having nearly the exact same script every time; however, each student managed to add their own flavor to it. The variety was in if they were too loud or too soft, how often they would have to reread sentences, and how frequently they went too fast or too slow. Other ways to make it zestier included the shaky unison, stammering and stuttering, or being super late. 

Every Friday they would also tell a joke at the end, and they almost always amused Veronica. Friday announcements were the only mildly positive announcements. That being said, that day it wasn’t Friday. The announcements were loud and obnoxious, and Veronica was already in a self-inflicted bad mood. She’d stayed up later than expected to read, and it was one of those days where the stress that she ignored caught up to her. She’d been so short with people, mentally if it weren't reasonable. 

The last thing she’d needed was to see Kurt and Ram approaching her with the intent of starting a “conversation.” Especially while she was just trying to get to class. Honestly, she was just proud that they could string words together well enough to form real sentences. Sometimes, when they really thought hard, they could express complete thoughts. Veronica couldn’t tell if she could smell their bad cologne or egos first.

Ram Sweeney _, a total heartthrob._ Every other girl thought he was absolutely dreamy (even Martha until 10th grade), but Veronica couldn’t see past how much of a pig he was. Even though he was tall, built, and as handsome as a teenager could be, he really just was awful company. He was kind of like Heather Chandler except dumber, louder, and with the humor of a twelve-year-old. Other than that, they were a matching, perfectly pampered, Ken and Barbie (aside from the fact they hadn't dated since freshman year). Ram had been on and off with Heather Duke, who admitted to Veronica that she just liked some of the physical aspects. Veronica had been sure the times he hadn’t been dating Duke, he’d been dating Kurt.

Kurt Kelly, the smartest guy on the football team. Ram’s right-hand man; the two had been best friends since the beginning of time itself. Slightly smarter than Ram, but more easily angered. He was also a football player, and, apparently, he was an important one, too. However, Veronica really only knew the name of one position: quarterback. Kurt was Ram’s Heather Duke, except he was nothing like her. He was equally as attractive as Ram, self-assured, hated reading, was decent at math, and wasn’t trying to be Ram. Kurt had been dating Heather McNamara for close to two years, but Veronica still didn’t get the impression that they were going steady.

Their friendship was built entirely on sex jokes and sports. When they were together, somehow they got dumber. Some of their hobbies included: sexualizing women, objectifying women, insulting every other person alive, and super white high fives. Veronica couldn’t see the appeal in them even if she squinted. 

“Hey, Ronica,” Ram was off to a terrible start considering that nickname was among the worst Veronica had ever heard. “What’s poppin’?”

“Not us, buddy,” Veronica tried to be firm yet non-confrontational, the two were a total waste of effort.

“Uh-oh, someone’s in a bad mood,” Ram said in a _charmingly_ exaggerated baby voice. Veronica rolled her eyes as she pressed her tongue against her cheek. She increased her pace in an attempt to escape. 

Kurt cut her off, walking backward in front of her. “Maybe a real man’s company will cheer her up.” Then Veronica thinks he tried to wink, but he just blinked with an inappropriate emphasis.

“A real man?” She looked around dramatically, using her hand as a sun visor. She dropped the act before staring Kurt dead in the eye as she raised an eyebrow. “ _Fucking where_?”

“Ouch! That one hurt!” Kurt fell back into Ram for effect. Ram smirked widely. 

“Kiss him better?” He added cheekily.

Veronica tried to give him a sarcastic smile, but it came out a grimace. “Kiss my ass.” She shoved past them, walking as fast as her legs could carry her. She ignored their hollers about how much they’d like to kiss her like that. Veronica gagged. She’d only have sex with them to figure out just how small their dicks actually were. 

Poor Heather. All three of them.

As the four girls walked to lunch, Veronica described the experience. Her friends were deferential to the story. Duke talked about how they could be that way sometimes. Similarly, McNamara said that they were well-meaning idiots. Chandler lovingly pointed out that their only worth was being a somewhat decent dick-appointment. Veronica wasn’t convinced by any of their statements. Why did she expect any better from them?

They sat at their usual table. Veronica ate her lunch idly as Chandler insulted Duke’s dress for the party relentlessly. Heather Duke was a curious case. Veronica never would’ve guessed that they would’ve grown to like each other. They did, as long as Veronica didn’t push it. Duke didn’t appreciate personal questions or teasing. Talking to her was like walking on eggshells, but talking to Chandler was like sweeping for landmines so that really didn’t bother Veronica. Unexpectedly, Veronica had grown an affinity to all of the Heathers in a weird, self-destructive way.

Despite how much she sort of liked them, she liked to ignore them just as much. As the girls talked about parties, boys, drugs, and other things, Veronica searched the cafeteria for Martha. The two usually waved at each other at lunch as that is what a close friendship obviously entails. However, someone else was sitting at the least crowded table that Martha had made her regular table. She and Veronica used to eat outside, but since their change in lifestyle, Martha sat with Betty Finn and a couple of other kids. The kids were Veronica’s old acquaintances, but none ever left a real impression on her. Now, they all sat huddled decently close together as they ate on one side of the table. The other side was occupied by a boy huddled behind a book.

Veronica knew that he was the new kid immediately because of his dark clothes, but also because of his overall unfamiliar appearance. Sherwood was a small community in the midwest, so when there was another brown kid, people took notice. And it made her feel bad to point out, but his skin tone was uncommon and new. His skin was tan olive that made Veronica smirk. _A tan that can’t be kept when you live here._ Once it was obvious that no other student at Westerburg was having an emo mental breakdown, Veronica decided to get a closer look at him.

“I’m throwing things away, you guys have any trash?” She asked suddenly, cutting off McNamara. She gathered up her lunch, preparing to throw it away. 

Duke pushed her tray towards Veronica. “I’ve lost my appetite.” Veronica nodded with a sympathetic smile. Prompting, she looked at McNamara.

“I’ll just throw me and Heather’s stuff away when we’re done eating,” She chirped. “But thanks, Ronnie.”

Veronica nodded, speeding off with the food in her hands. She hoped no one noticed that she went to the garbage can furthest away from her, but the closest to this new kid. As she threw the food away, she tried to analyze him as generally as she could. 

Veronica nearly sucked in a breath, he wasn’t cute - he was _handsome_. He was fairly tall, she guessed he hit close to six feet and had a slender physique to compliment it. His hair was dark and neatly styled to be messy. His face was delicately masculine, almost androgynous but all angle, and speckled with the occasional freckle. His eyes had deep bags clinging to them and long eyelashes that canopied over them, and he definitely didn’t get eyelash extensions with the Heathers. Thick eyebrows were quirked into a thoughtful expression as he quietly read a book that Veronica had read to be an Edgar Allen Poe collection. His lips were rosy, and decently full, pulled into a tight line causing tension on his cheeks and flaunted his perfect dimples. His cheekbones and jaw were well defined but slender and somehow soft. 

His hair was styled to mimic vintage styles and was dark and less “messy” around the front. His ears were covered with piercings - no gages, which Veronica found odd because he was decked out in punk rock fashion. His jacket was black denim that was well worn and drowned in studs, patches, and buttons. His t-shirt was some band that Veronica had never heard of with holes tactfully placed, obviously intentional. His jeans were dark acid wash and straight cut, but too long for him - they were a little scrunched all the way to his ankle-length leather boots. He also put patches on his pants. She felt insecure just looking at him.

His eyes were green with brown muddled in. They added so much life to his face. Veronica could tell because he had caught her staring. He peaked at her from behind the thick, worn book. She could feel her face get hot. He wiggled his eyebrows at her for effect, and then went back to his reading. _Thank God._

Flirting was not her forte, so she sped away like her life depended on it because socially, it did. When she sat down she finally let out her breath (it was hard to breathe around a guy just casually modeling who caught you staring, believe her). In order to take her mind off of her embarrassment, she engaged in conversation. 

“Who knew that by ‘throwing things away’ you meant leering at some loser at the loser table,” Heather Chandler said through a tight smile. 

Veronica frowned, holding her palms out defensively, “Hey, I just wanted to see what he looked like. His fashion isn’t exactly subtle.”

Duke nodded. “Yeah, he’s dressed like the personification of the worst Panic! At The Disco song. Bothered me all throughout history.” Then her eyes met Veronica’s. A silent solidarity passed between them.

“Some people are just like that, I guess,” McNamara commented off-handedly. 

“He looks like he’d pull out his acoustic guitar at parties so he could sing about his daddy issues in hopes of getting some action.” And with that comment, Chandler shot him a glare from across the room. He didn’t notice. Chandler continued, “But you’re right, Heather. To each their own.”

Veronica kept staring at the boy, something was so magnetic about him. “So he’s our age if he’s in your class then.”

“Oh, yeah,” Duke said.

“We also have the same English or Literature or whatever,” McNamara added. “He’s a senior. And a real know-it-all. Not that he said anything, he just aced the quiz, even though it’s his first day here.” Embarrassed, McNamara looked away. She was always insecure about her grades. Sometimes, Veronica tutored her. Other than that, she just copied Duke’s homework. Veronica wrote Chandler and McNamara’s essays, so that wasn’t very surprising.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw! Who fucking cares about some wash-out dweeb who can’t even comb his hair correctly? He’s old news,” Chandler was done tolerating her friends' free thought, especially when they were talking about something other than her. Veronica had definitely joined a cult. She forced another toxic smile. “Anyway, Veronica?”

The boy had again caught her staring, but this time, he gave her a lazy wink. It was such a slight movement, that you could blink and miss it, but Veronica didn’t. Another less intense blush, but this time neither of them looked away. “Yeah, Heather?”

The boy dug around next to him until he found a hard-boiled egg. He showed it to her, in his left hand. Then he put his hands behind his back. When he brought his arms in front of him, he showed her that both of his hands were completely empty. He shrugged at her helplessly. Held up his right index finger before facepalming with his left. He then pulled the egg out of his mouth. Veronica laughed as he pretended to be shocked by the outcome. Who would’ve guessed that he was a magician? 

Then he tilted his head towards her and tapped his ear while mouthing the word ‘listen.’ Veronica turned to look back at Heather. “Are you done daydreaming yet? Veronica!”

“Yes, I heard you, Heather,” Back to reality. Back to Heather. “What is it?”

“I need a note, Ram Sweeney’s handwriting.” Veronica nodded as Heather gave her direction. “If you can, make it look like he was trying to take his time. It will read as such: ‘I -’”

“Wait, I don’t have anything to write with,” Veronica tried to look through her backpack.

“Heather, give her a pen, and, Heather, give her paper,” Chandler’s word was like magic. The supplies were produced in front of Veronica immediately.

Veronica knew Ram’s handwriting from peer reviews and the times he left his number in her locker. The number still wasn’t in her phone and Ram still assumed that she just hadn’t seen it yet. Veronica wrote as Heather spoke. It was like taking notes in class, something Veronica practiced for college. “‘I know that this is sudden, but I need to say it. I think I like love you. I want to make us work. Please talk to me at my party tomorrow. That would be cool if you did.’ And then sign it as ‘Ram (Sweeney).’ And then under that, ‘PS, don’t tell anyone about this until we’re official.’” Veronica laughed at how accurate his stupidity was. Even though her grades wouldn’t lead you to believe it, Chandler was a genius.

“What is this for anyway, Heather?” Veronica finished it and began folding it. Chandler’s smile was wicked.

“Marth Dumbfuck will buy it, don’t you think?” 

“ _What?_ No, we are not giving this to Martha. She has done absolutely nothing to you,” Veronica held the note against her chest.

Duke snorted. “It will be good for her. She’ll have shower nozzle masturbation material for months.”

McNamara avoided eye contact as she muttered, “Yeah, we all know that she’s had a crush on him for years. Like, since kindergarten.”

“We’ll never have a better opportunity, she’s in the bathroom,” Chandler said cooly.

“No way, I can’t let you hurt her like this.” Veronica leaned away, ready to ditch their table at a moment’s notice. 

Chandler leaned forward, her nails dug against the surface. “I made you Veronica, and I can ruin you just the same. Not that I have to when you are so willing to do it to yourself.”

Duke nodded. “We’re just trying to have some fun, so -”

“ _Shut the fuck up, Heather_ !” Chandler spat. “Veronica, let me remind you that you are a loser, a nobody. Not even Martha wants you back because you are a total bitch. Just follow my lead, I’m the best friend you’ve ever had only because you aren’t totally useless. Just remember how you were before me - ugly, worthless, _invisible._ Don’t forget all I bought for you, and every string I pulled for you. Be grateful, you bitch.”

Veronica pressed her lips into a thin line as she stood up. As she approached Martha’s lunch tray, she made eye contact with the boy again. She looked away, making a beeline for the nicest person she’d ever known. She couldn’t hurt Martha like this, not like this. Martha smiled at Veronica as she approached. Betty greeted her softly. Veronica set the note on the tray. As she walked away, Martha was returning to her tray. Veronica’s stomach bunched up. 

“So, you like magic,” The boy asked as she walked by him. Martha smiled as she saw Veronica.

“Look, now really isn’t a good time,” Veronica wanted to hide her face.

Martha was getting closer. The boy stood up, “Now is a great time, actually. You wanna know how I did it?”

“Not really, man,” Veronica sighed. “Please let me get back to my seat.”

The teen made an effort of smirking broadly at the table behind them. “It’s something called misdirection.” The table was the one Kurt and Ram sat at, and from the buzz of the football players talking, Veronica could tell that they were approaching. “And it kind of works like this.” He pushed past Veronica.

“Hello, boys,” He said casually. 

Kurt smiled. His tone was condescending. “Hey, buddy, what’s a dork like you doing in Sherwood, Ohio?”

“Hey, Kurt, isn’t there a no fags allowed policy in this cafeteria?”

“Yeah, Ram, I think there is.”

The boy finally spoke. “Then why are you two fucking assholes?” Veronica would have to laugh at that wordplay later when she finally processed what the hell was going on. Martha sat down, she was going to notice the note

“Grab his arms.” After that, it was a blur. In, the moment, it was crystal clear, nearly in slow motion, but if she was asked what happened, Veronica could never explain. A brutal fistfight - punches, kicks, and kids screaming the whole time. Just like that, the cafeteria was on its feet. Yelling, filming, and of course screaming. Two against one was supposed to be unfair, but No-name-kid was kicking Kurt and Ram’s asses. It was impressive, at least Veronica thought so. She just wondered why he seemed to want this to happen, she raked through their previous conversation for any kind of warning. 

_Misdirection. The note._ Veronica ran to Martha’s tray, Martha was not near it because this was the kind of thing that she wouldn’t want to be a part of. Veronica picked up the note that somehow started a totally unrelated brawl. As she threw it away, the fight ended. The unnamed boy came out on top, seemingly without a scratch. 

Irritated by its unruliness, he re-tousled his hair and brushed invisible dust off of his jacket. He looked at Veronica with his tongue pressed up against his cheek. “That was a close call.”

Veronica scoffed. “‘Close call?’ You nearly killed them.”

“Why thank you, but I meant the note.”

“How did you know that that note wasn’t a good thing?”

He rolled his eyes, but it was playful. “I can read body language. Give me some credit.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” _Smooth, Veronica._

“Anyway,” He said, pointing his head at the Heathers, who were busy posting, teasing, and generally enjoying the carnage. “You a Heather?”

“I’m a Veronica,” He smiled at that. “Veronica Sawyer.”

“Well, Veronica, we are all born marked for evil, but when I see people like you, I don’t want to believe it.” Her heart skipped a beat at the knowledge that he was just as nerdy as her. She never knew she was looking for a man who could quote her favorite poet before.

The vice-principal began breaking up the crowd, “That’s my cue.”

“Wait, don’t just quote Baudelaire at me and run away,” Veronica rushed towards him. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Don’t worry about it,” He stared at her with a controlled sort of intensity. “I didn’t throw it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew JD could do magic? I did it's in the original script of the movie. So I weirdly utilized that.  
> Anyway, trying to post consistently every three days, at least. Love y'all. Leave reviews and stuff if you like this or if you hate it. I just want to pretend I'm interacting with people, I don't care about how it goes.


	3. Doing It All Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever. a combination of school and lack of motivation is to blame. not me tho. I'm innocent.

“Say, Heather?” Heather Chandler muttered as she applied her face mask, rose-scented. “Do you think there could be a _possibility_ Veronica is interested in the new kid?”

Duke snorted. “Maybe, Heather. Maybe.”

McNamara smiled in amusement. Wanting to be mad, Veronica forced a scowl, but they were right and she knew it. And it was sad. If it weren’t attached to her body, Veronica wouldn’t recognize her own mind. All she could think about was him, positive or negative, he was on the mind. Her mind had been traveling back to the shitty _Wattpad_ stories that she read somewhat ironically when she was twelve. Occasionally she revisited the refined literature that could be found on that forsaken site, but now it was entirely ironic, mostly. She just hoped that her life ended up more _Quirky Tale of April Hale_ rather than _After._

Chandler laughed, wicked and controlled. “Seriously, though, stop. I’m not going to let you embarrass me like that. And I mean it, don’t turn this into some _Romeo & Juliet _ bullshit. You wouldn’t be able to recover from that, and friends help friends.”

Duke snickered. “ _Romeo & Juliet? _ More like _My Immortal._ ”

“You two are comic geniuses, you know that?” Was all Veronica could respond with. 

“That’s a real compliment coming from a clown,” Chandler snapped. Duke and McNamara laughed, as if on cue. Veronica laughed, too. Chandler was right as much as it hurt to admit. For the first real-time in her life, Veronica Sawyer had a crush, and she had it bad. It wasn’t like when she was in seventh grade and dated Dennis for two weeks. It wasn’t like third grade when she forced herself to have a crush on Nicholas because everyone else claimed to be in love. If this was what every lead in a romance movie was going through, then she had to issue a formal apology to Hollywood. It’s so much worse than she thought it would be. 

She couldn’t pay attention in class, or when her friends were talking. Half of the time her thoughts didn’t even make sense. Everything about how they’d met had been weird and cringy and lame and dorky. If it were in a book, it would probably be badly written. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it, wondering what she could have said to make it better. Thinking about how she could strike up a conversation with him, and all the things that she could tell him. He would be such a good listener, and he’d probably laugh at all of her jokes, even though she had nothing to support that assumption. 

So for the rest of that fateful Thursday night, during the Heathers’ relentless gossip and beauty routine-things, Veronica had her head in the clouds. She figured that he was probably a fuckboy, he probably talked to all of the girls like that. Then again, he’s so dorky, maybe he’d never even been in a relationship. He’s probably annoying with his pretentious edgy culture. Imagine kissing him, his lips are probably soft. He’s definitely a good kisser, super passionate yet yielding, she could tell. Did he even like her? She’d be more charismatic next time they talked, enticing even.

She thought about him during her homework session at home and continued to think about him before she fell asleep. There was no way of knowing because she’d forgotten entirely, but she was sure that she’d dreamt about him judging from her extensive writing about him in her diary. How humiliating.

At school the very next morning, Duke was the first to find her. “You finish the math homework?”

“Yeah, but it’s not my best work.” Veronica sighed. 

“Okay, I’ll just let Heather copy mine,” Duke smirked smugly. “Not to suck my own tit or anything, but I totally nailed it.”

“How very.” Heather Duke was no longer the smart Heather after Veronica joined the group. Honestly, it haunted Veronica, she felt super bad reducing Duke to another second place. This would be the first in a long time that Duke had the best work to copy.

McNamara then flounced over to the other girls. “Kurt and Ram have been suspended, and their dads almost canceled their fishing trip. They don’t care that they’re already in trouble, they’re gonna throw the party anyway. Isn’t that fun?” Every morning she caught Veronica up with the condensed version of “pressing” drama.

“Rad,” Duke replied dryly. Then Chandler was there, and the world returned to tyranny. School fell into its usual routine. Ram’s party was the talk of the school, even some college kids would be coming over. Like David, the one person Veronica knew who could manipulate Chandler just as easily as she could. There would be tasteful drugs and heavy drinking because excitement in youth didn’t come easily. 

The whole day, minorly dreading the party aside, Veronica thought about the new kid, who was also suspended she found out. According to Martha, Flemming has decided to torment him with weekly meetings. Maybe he and Heather Duke would see each other in the queue. Disappointing that he was suspended, Veronica would have to find some other way to talk to him accidentally on purpose. Something that made it seem like she wasn’t trying to seek him out, but that his presence was a welcome surprise. Lame.

Sherwood was a sleepy town with little traffic and barely any business. There were few places a person could go in the whole town, even the whole collection of small towns that made up the entirety of the school district. Small farming villages with pristine neighborhoods peppered in between. It was like living in a suburb that was by no definition a suburb aside from the people who lived there. 

David and Carol Sawyer were always very happy with the size of their hometown, only occasionally remarking that they kind of missed Cincinnati. When they did admit to missing the city, they quickly added that they only missed it because of the memories of an early marriage with a little Veronica at their side. Veronica could only roll her eyes, she wished that they still lived with traffic screaming in their ears. At least they could interact with normal people in a normal place. When Veronica was accepted into Stanford, she was never going to look back. 

That being said, Sherwood was big enough to proudly display two gas stations, one of them being a 7/11. After his existence was scarcely proven, Veronica was surprised to see his bike parked at the establishment at 9:00 on a Friday night. She almost would’ve been kind of excited, if it weren’t for her current chore of having to find party snacks (Corn Nuts in particular) for Heather Chandler. 

She found it strange to be so dressed up for a party, but found it to be even more strange to be dressed up in a 7/11. Even though it was nearly completely empty, she still felt like she was being silently judged. It was stupid that she couldn’t dress normally for a house party anyway. 

“Please hurry, Ronnie. I want to be _fashionably_ late.” Chandler reminded her harshly before rolling the window back up. Tiresome. Heather had been higher strung than she usually was lately. She had been able to make Veronica unreasonably angry better than anything else she’d ever encountered. If there was anyone that made Veronica want to cause a person physical harm, it was Heather Chandler. She poisoned everything that she touched. Like the nickname ‘Ronnie’ which Veronica could only take as patronizing ever since Chandler treated it like it was written on her birth certificate. 

Veronica’s blood simmered underneath her skin as her limbs were stiff as plywood. It was a terrible evening already. “Okay, Heather.” She whispered even though no one was listening. Veronica was a glorified errand girl. A servant that got to join Heather at the ball because she promised David’s friend an object to ogle at. How generous of her.

Corn Nuts, Coke, and Twizzlers, a party in a gas station grocery bag, in Veronica’s opinion. She grabbed them hastily, so hard that she’d nearly hurt her hands. At checkout, she checked to see if she broke a nail. She didn’t, but it would have been more interesting if she had. 

In and out, hurrying as to not be too late. Focusing only on her current objective, putting up with Heather’s shit until she could go home. Trying to return to the car so quickly that she almost didn’t notice when she accidentally hooked her bag on the handle of the motorcycle, nearly bringing it crashing against the asphalt. 

She spun around, nervous to look at the inevitable damage. But there was no damage because the owner of said motorcycle was leaning against it, acting as a counterweight. He held a Slurpee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “In a hurry?”

“Yeah, but I don’t really care,” She answered plainly.

He scoffed in a way that seemed to indicate laughter. “Sounds exciting.”

She nodded in response. Gesturing at his choice drink, she decided to change the subject. “Never saw you as the sugar liquid kind of guy.”

“I get the sugar free ones when they’re an option,” His smirk exposes his slightly uneven dimples. “But these could taste like anything and I’d still drink them.”

“Is that so?” Veronica wants to know where he’s going with this.

“I just like brain freezes,” The following shrug pulls his jacket in a way that it falls open, revealing more angry fashion. His clothes are dark and cluttered with patches, phrases, and single words. Safety pins and studs. 

“You like brain freezes?” That was a first.

“Better than trying to figure out what the arteries in my wrist look like inside out,” He says it like he’s discussing the weather. Veronica must’ve pulled a face because then he started to tense. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to say.”

Veronica just stared, unsure of how to respond. Her mouth thought faster than her brain. “Everyone’s life has static.” She didn’t know what she meant by that, but sounded kind of cool. And mysterious. And relatable. It felt like a _Thirteen Reasons Why_ quote you’d post on Instagram with a picture of the Joker.

Heather screamed for Veronica, as if on cue. It was like a banshee, and that included the murderous intent. 

“For example,” She continued. “I don’t really like my friends.”

He looked relieved and amused. “I don’t really like your friends either.” Veronica laughed. He stomped out what was left of his cigarette. 

“Am I allowed to learn your name, Mr. Didn’t-throw-it?” Veronica put a hand on her hip, trying to be more confident than she felt.

He shifted, standing up fully and loosely crossing his arms. “That depends. How deep are your pockets?”

“Oh, I’m paying?” Veronica exaggerated an incredulous look, delicately placing a hand over her chest in shock.

“Of course! It’s not just the luxury of knowing my name, but the convenience of knowing it now. That doesn’t come for free.” He spoke like a door-to-door salesman.

“What kind of price are you suggesting?” Veronica mimicked his posture, crossing her arms while the bag strap rested in the crook of her elbow. She didn’t look nearly as cool and effortless as he did.

He looked contemplative. “Let me buy you a Slurpee.”

And it’s stupid that Veronica was so breathless by a guy offering to get her a drink at a gas station. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He looked almost nervous, maybe surprised. Whatever his expression was it wasn’t completely positive. Tension broke on his face, replaced by another dreamy distant look. He stuck out a hand, as if he wanted a handshake. “In that case it’s JD, short for Jason Dean.”

Veronica took his - no, _JD’s_ hand, he gave it three good pumps as she swam in his eyes. “Nice to meet you, JD.”

 _Jason. Jason Dean._ What a perfect name for him. It fit as soon as he’d said it. It felt so right on her tongue when she’d said it back and she repeated it in her mind like a chorus. She knew that’d be the perfect name to say to herself as she stared at her ceiling. It was a great name to squeal excitedly to her friends when they talked about him. 

“You, too, V,” He leaned back, supporting his weight on the bike again. _V_. A perfect nickname. Perfect when he says it. The way it sounds. The way he had to bite his lip if only slightly, to say it. 

Veronica was pathetically obsessed with him. 

“ _VERONICA, WHAT THE_ FUCK _IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?”_ Chandler’s voice cut through the night like a knife. Veronica smiled angrily, embarrassed, as Chandler honked the horn like she was caught in New York traffic.

“That’s my cue.” She said awkwardly, drawn out.

He responded with a shocked, yet amused tone. “I can hear that.”

Just as she was about to leave he spoke up again. “Or you could just stay here.” It was an innocent suggestion, a nice idea even, but Veronica couldn’t do that. Chandler had her wrapped around her finger. 

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” Veronica said helplessly. He gave her a nod, but looked a little put out. As much as Veronica would have liked to have stayed, she left.

* * *

The speakers boomed like the Sweeney household was the battlefield in Vietnam. The lights were dimmed and most people there were like shadows dancing their way through hallways and sitting rooms. The smell of liquor and weed was strong enough that Veronica swore that she was already intoxicated. Ram’s house had three floors, a basement, a ground floor, and an upstairs, each level must have had at least fifteen kids making questionable decisions on it. 

A sensory overload, disorienting. Brad, David’s friend, promised Veronica that he’d found a room where they could be alone. Red flag number one, but that wasn’t surprising. A red flag had already been firmly planted, Heather Chandler’s. 

At the beginning of the night, she made Veronica swear to have a good time with Brad so Heather could spend time with David. She swore that he was the only guy who was actually worth her time, meanwhile David didn’t seem to think that she was worth his. Heather didn’t understand that her control over her high school didn’t mean anything in the real world. In a way it almost made Veronica feel bad for her in her search for validation, but then Heather sentenced her to Brad against her will. 

Duke and McNamara disappeared immediately, deciding that they had better things to do. Those things being Kurt and Ram. Leaving Veronica totally alone. Aside from Brad.

Brad was like an unseasoned crouton of a person. His conversations were bland, the kind of forced small talk you gave a girl that you just wanted one night with. Smile and nod was Veronica’s lifeline, though she was sure that each smile came out as little more than a grimace. Brad seemed tolerable, not as a person, but as a fruitless task Chandler gave her.

Sold into a juvenile version of forced prostitution, Veronica followed Brad, hoping that if she gave him enough drinks he’d just pass out. The man drank a lot, but also forced Veronica to have a swig when he felt that she needed to “let her hair down.” Everything seemed normal until he did a polite amount of cocaine.

Now there she was, being dragged by her wrist to spend some time alone with a man three years her senior, stronger than her, and high as a kite. She tried to remember everything that she’d been taught about self-defense, but nothing came to her Smirnoff-addled brain. “Where are we going?” Her voice felt far away.

It had been the third time they paced the upstairs hallway, and Veronica was starting to get tired of all of the walking. Her shoulder was practically dislocated with the way he hauled her behind him. He stopped abruptly, staring at a heavy-looking oak door. “Here,” he breathed. 

When he opened the door, it revealed a fairly small room. It was obviously an office. A desk, an armchair, a single window covered by blackout curtains. Brad smiled as Veronica flicked on the light. He laughed hoarsely. “Lights on kind of girl, huh?” Veronica rolled her eyes. 

He sat down at the desk, spinning the chair around to face her. Not wanting to deal with this, she settled herself as far away from him as humanly possible. He continued anyway. “You’re really pretty, you know? You’ve got a real nice face for a sixteen-year-old.”

Veronica just sighed, not having the energy to correct him on her age. He kept talking. “What? I’m just trying to be nice. You seem like the romantic type.” Veronica shook her head.

“Sorry,” He didn’t sound apologetic. “If you don’t want the build-up, then neither do I.” He unzips his pants. “Come here.”

“You’re disgusting,” Unable to put up with that any longer, Veronica stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her. She could hear him complaining as if he were entitled to her. Gross. 

That was it, that was the last straw. Heather had put her through Hell. She never even wanted to go to this party in the first place. It hadn’t even been fun, just a waste of time. Veronica used to love parties. The first party the Heathers brought her to was fun and freeing, but now having fun was just another item on her to-do list. As much as she’d like to talk to Heather, maybe even scream at her and slap her across the face, that wasn’t going to happen. Veronica had sold her soul to the devil and now she would have to deal with the consequences. 

But who made it so that Veronica couldn’t have fun? No one, really. So she decided to reclaim the night by drinking until she was more alcohol than human and making a fool of herself. Shot after shot, cup after cup, and the party was almost fun. No one had challenged her to any drinking competitions, but she still got the feeling that she’d won. She’d even tried smoking weed, which mostly just resulted in hacking up a lung. She danced like her bones were made of jello and her soul was composed of melodies. A guy kissed her and she didn’t mind it. 

“Veronica! Veronica, get the _fuck_ over here,” Chandler grabbed her abruptly, pulling her to a less crowded corner. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, I feel great,” Veronica was wobbly as if her joints had been replaced with loose springs. “Come on, let’s go back to the dancing and to the _fun.”_

Heather didn’t look amused. “Why’d you piss off Brad? Now David’s piss-”

“Who gives a shit about David?” Veronica complained, and all of the happy, bubbly emotions were fading. She was kind of miserable, come to think of it. Had her shoes always felt so small? “Brad was a huge dick, and you couldn’t pay me to keep talking to him.”

Heather looked angry mixed with an emotion that she couldn’t control. An emotion that Veronica had never seen on her face. If she hadn’t seen it in person, she’d never even be able to picture it. It was humiliation, but not the kind that would make her sneer while her eyes burnt and her face contorted into a beautiful wrath. Veronica knew that Heather practiced faces in the mirror like models did for photos, but she did it for everything. Leaving every twitch perfectly placed. But she wasn’t like that now. Now she had that pleading, desperate, pouty kind of humiliation. The kind that if she weren’t mad, would probably make her want to cry. Heather Chandler crying? Now that was funny. “Why are you being such a bitch?”

“I’m a bitch? You pimped me out after kidnapping me to bring to your beauty pageant.” Veronica was thinking hard, trying to make her words work like she wanted them to. Trying to make her mouth cooperate. At the same time, she was fuming, and being drunk off of her ass wasn’t helping.

“Why can’t you just be there for me when I need you? That’s what friends do,” She shrieked, stomping an expensive heel on carpet. 

Acid heat burns up Veronica’s throat. “Can we head out, I’m not feeling too good.” Blurs. Dizzy. 

“You can’t just blow everyone off all of the time! You and your stupid excuses,” It was like talking to a dragon. It had only taken a second for Heather to regain total control, tears no longer threatening her eyes. Now it was just agonizing, shrieking anger, like nails on a chalkboard or the way a car squeals before a violent crash.

“But I’m not -” Veronica said weakly, or at least she tried to. Now the rug, the shoes she’d borrowed from Heather Duke, and Heather Chandler were smothered in vomit. Veronica kept gagging, whimpering at the taste in her mouth. Shaky before she straightened herself. Heather howled as if she’d been murdered.

“I buy your clothes, I take you to parties, I pretend you aren’t a _nobody_. And this is what I get for my efforts,” She raved, practically foaming at the mouth. “My payment is spewed all over the fucking carpet, and my brand new dress. Your disgusting puke, you -”

“Lick it up, baby,” Sarcasm bathed Veronica’s sneer. A condescending type of putting Heather in her place that was good enough to savor for a lifetime. “Lick it the fuck up.”

“You stupid cunt!” She hisses.

“You goddamn bitch!” Veronica was as sober as a preacher on a Sunday, but couldn’t stop herself even though she was fully aware of the box she just opened.

“Monday morning, you’re history,” Perfectly controlled. The designer leash she held Veronica on was tightened. “And you’ll wish that you just another nameless pillowcase, but instead you’ll be Westerburg’s most popular waste of air. You transfer across the country, you can move to China, but no one will let you play their reindeer games!” Her painted claws clutched her chin, pinching her face into a pucker, before shoving her away. 

In a moment, just one blink, Veronica pretended that there was any way for her to win this fight, and slapped Heather across the face. Maybe it’s because she was drunk, or maybe Veronica had hit her too hard, but Heather stumbled. Veronica lifted her chin. “I’ll take anything as long as you leave me alone.”

David rushed over, ready to step in. Heather held up her hand, and he stopped cold. “You wanna talk, Ronnie? Let’s talk.”

* * *

“Sounds traumatic,” He breathed, leaning forward. Throughout her entire rant, because there is no way she could ever call it a story, he was engaged but silent. He’d nodded and had open attentive body language, but the whole time he’d been as quiet as sleep itself. Veronica was almost surprised by the fact that he could talk. “Then what happened?”

Veronica laughed humorlessly. “I left. She cussed me out more, and I left.” Mid-sentence, Heather had been complaining and threatening, and Veronica had been bored. She’d stormed away. Facing the cold without her coat and without Heather Duke’s shoes. She wanted to disappear. To just wake up at home and learn that there was no party. In fact, she wanted to realize that there was no Heather at all. 

In her deep contemplations, rethinking all of the super cool things she should have said, and raw hatred for everything and everyone, a glint of metal caught her eye. She’d known that JD had moved in close to Ram, but had never really considered it. She realized where she should have been the whole time. 

Two different lights were on, and Veronica could only guess that the room blasting punk music belonged to her James Dean. Before she could even consider knocking on the door, she noticed the trellis that was close enough to his window for her to do something risky. Trusting in her most primal instincts and drunk assurances that this was a good idea, she climbed up the trellis. It was thin and flimsy, it dug into her palms like a blade, but she supposed that her need for someone to complain to overpowered the pain.

He laughed. “I’m glad you got away.” Veronica nodded, taking in her company. The idea that he just let her into his bedroom in the middle of the night, claiming that she just wanted a friend. Not that it had been like he was expecting her or anything. She’d scared him enough to make him jump when she knocked on his window. Not that she could blame him, it must have been terrifying to hear a knock on his second-story window in the middle of the night right after he got out of the shower. 

When he saw that it was her, his look softened completely. He’d opened the window for her and then hoisted her inside, no questions asked. Then he’d apologized for being undressed, but Veronica really didn’t mind it. He was more toned than she’d expected. He didn’t mind her watching as he put on more than just his boxers. A baggy band shirt and loose sweatpants. “I’m glad you let me in.” She said frankly.

“I am too,” He muttered somewhat awkwardly. “I’m sorry you’ve had such an awful night.”

“Don’t be, it’s kind of my fault.” They were sitting on his bed. She let her legs hang off the side, telling her story to his entire bedroom. Meanwhile, he sat next to her, lounging with one leg up that he leaned his arm on. “I didn’t have to be friends with Heather - I didn’t even have to go to school with Heather. In sixth grade I was offered to go to high school early, but we turned it down for friends and shit. But I didn’t get friends, just the shit. Now I use my grand IQ figuring out how to be passive-aggressive subtly enough that Heather won’t notice.” He hummed in response, letting her continue.

“I’ve never really taken Heather’s teen queen power play bullshit as anything more than bullshit, but,” She sighed. Letting all of the feelings wash over her. As soon as she was sure of what she was feeling, she voiced it. “I think I’m actually scared. Who am I going to sit with on Monday?” She sounded like a stupid episode of Hannah Montanna or something. 

“Veronica?” And she wondered if he was going to offer that she sit with him, or if he was going to throw her out for sounding like such a basket case. “May I offer you some advice?”

“Shoot.” 

“You say that you hate her, you don’t want to be near her, and that she’s not a good friend,” He looked through her. “And if that’s the case, why don’t you just drop her? Who cares where you are on the social ladder as long as you respect yourself?”

For an instant, she agreed with him ready to rally herself at his cause. The ember was extinguished by that drowning anxiety that ruined every moment of courage that Veronica couldn’t make happen. 

“That’s easy for a cool guy like you to say,” She laughed, as she shook her head. “You’re this rebel, this teenage revolutionary who couldn’t care less about what anyone else thinks. But I’m - I’ve never even had detention. I’ve never had that brazen swagger that you wake up with.”

“It’s not easy, but I think it’s a change worth making,” He responded, eyebrows knitted in what was probably concern. “Just live like there is no Heather.”

“Okay, sure,” Veronica looked around the room, a devious idea playing in the back of her mind. She chose to ignore it. Deciding that conversation was a better move than sucking face. Or at least attempting to. Coming up with a subject of conversation was more difficult than she expected so she decided to bring up his accent. It was subtle, but it was definitely there. His accent was interesting - a slight southern twang mixed with slight New York and slighter-yet Chicago. It almost didn’t seem like an accent to Veronica - just a weird way of talking. This thought almost led her down an existential debate about what qualifies as an accent, but she decided to just stop thinking entirely. “Where are you from?”

Her question came out incredulous, maybe even rude, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just smirked and rolled his eyes. “Where _am_ I from? Some questions just aren’t meant to have answers.”

Veronica vaguely wondered if she was being accidentally racist. “I’m pretty sure there’s an answer to that one, buster. Where were you born?”

He looked as if the thought squicked him out. “North Carolina. Charlotte to be specific.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from North Carolina,” Veronica guessed. She’d never really heard a North Carolinian accent but assumed that it was thick and southern. 

“I did only exist there for around six months, so that makes sense,” He answered. Before Veronica could keep probing him, he stretched his arms over his head as he explained. “The thing is that I move around a lot. I’m probably never going to unpack my things kind of a lot. Those six months in Charlotte were the longest I’ve ever spent anywhere. Not that I think of it as a home, though. I’m pretty sure I count as nomadic.”

“There’s nowhere that you consider home? Not one place?” Veronica couldn’t tell if she envied him or felt deeply sorry for him. Never having real friends or a real support system. Nothing. She knew how she felt upon further thought.

“Butt-fuck Nowhere, Tennessee, I guess,” Irony bled through the apathy. “Grandparents’ home.”

She cocked an eyebrow, laughter threatening to bubble out. “Tennessee?” She tried to imagine anything about him being in Tennessee. His outrageous fashion and indoorsy attitude didn’t exactly fit in. She resisted the urge to make a ten-I-see joke.

“Yep. Dad is from Tennessee, Mama’s from Alabama, and I’m not from anywhere, I suppose.” He scrunched up his face. “Please tell me you’re surprised.”

“And what’s the surprise supposed to be?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to get rid of this stupid accent for _years_. Was hoping you couldn’t hear it.” His frown was so low, Veronica thought it might fall off of his face.

“Well, in the Midwest it’s very easy to hear accents. Don’t stress about it.” She was pretty sure his accent would be obvious no matter where he went, but she was trying to cheer him up. Obvious if he ever actually talked to you for a long time that is. With his level of enthusiasm for human interaction, she was sure he’d probably be fine. 

“Whatever.” He looked out the window, distant. 

“For such a large place the furniture’s pretty shitty,” Veronica said, looking around the bedroom. If she bought a nice house with not-nice furniture she’d be pretty upset.

JD chuckled. “Rental furniture usually is.”

“Rental furniture?” Veronica echoed. “You’re only renting it?”

“Oh, yeah. Mama used to insist that we had consistent furniture, saying shit like ‘any house can be a home,’ but Pop and I don’t really like moving all of that with us,” He said dryly. “And Mom’s not here, so when the cat’s away. . .” Again with that far away look.

“Oh,” There wasn’t a lot to say to that. “I’ve only ever moved once.” Except that. “From Cincinnati.”

He pulled his attention back to her, summoning a bright and shiny smile (with annoyingly straight teeth that were only slightly yellowed by his smoking habit). “Well how long have you been in Sherwood?”

Veronica tapped her chin, spoofing thought. “How old am I now?”

The boy snickered. “That long, huh?”

“I moved from Cincinnati when I was in diapers, literally only six weeks old,” The Sawyers had decided that they couldn’t raise a child in the city. They went for the small, everyone-knows-everyone vibe. They thought it would be safer or something. “I don’t remember anything about it, so it’s really like I’ve never moved at all.”

“Sounds more like your parents moved, to be honest with you,” He responded playfully. 

“Not fair, I was alive at the time,” He rolled his eyes. “What? By your logic, your dad is the only one moving.”

“Hey, I do a lot of the heavy lifting,” He said, exaggerating showing off his muscles. They didn’t show through his loose shirt, but Veronica really wished they did. “This house would be nothing without me.”

Veronica fanned herself. “Wow. Handsome and smart. A real double threat.” 

“You think I’m handsome?” He said, straightening his posture with a smug look on his face. His eyes flicked over her face, a warmer expression softened his features. “I think you’re matchless.” He looked like that had been the only word that could capture all of it. All of what he saw and felt around her. All of the words he could try to explain her with.

Her cheeks burnt. He was captivating - brilliant. The way that he looked at her made her feel fire on her skin. She felt like time stopped, like a flower had bloomed in her stomach. She felt like nothing mattered but the way his breath caught when she brushed her hand against his hand.

Like a curtain, the cool suave JD was gone, and Jason Dean sat in his place. His face was caught in between the moonlight and the lamp on his desk, contouring his features. His hair was unstyled, still barely damp. Color dusted his cheeks, and his eyes twinkled with a feeling so extraordinary that it made Veronica turn even redder.

Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the passion, or maybe it was the hormones, but then Veronica put her hand and his cheek. Running her thumb over it, feeling his skin. He was soft and simmered under her touch. His ears, neck, and cheeks flushed. His breathing was slow and calm. Electricity between them. 

She felt one of his breaths, hot and short. Liquid courage in her veins, she placed another hand on the back of his neck and smashed his mouth into hers. There was no resistance. Veronica was pretty sure that this was what they called enthusiastic consent. 

Heat. Their bodies crashed against each other and their hands traveled over one another. Veronica mapped out every feeling. His hands roamed over every curve and edge. There was a push and pull to the whole thing, like the tide. 

There was so much passion; all at once, the bedroom was hotter than any desert. It was a gorgeous juxtaposition if one were to see the peaceful home that looked straight from a realtor’s catalog without knowing that inside two teenagers were forcefully and desperately shoving their tongue down the other's throat. Scandalous. 

At some point, she’d shoved him down and climbed on top of him. At another point, their clothes were thrown into the dark corners of the room, aside from Veronica’s skirt and socks. Veronica quickly found out that he was not a virgin, and that he had very experienced hands. Every touch was a new sensation, every swipe of his tongue was another wave of pleasure. Maybe it was just the alcohol

Or maybe it was just how well she’d gotten to know him. Or maybe there was just something about JD that made it better. He was better. Either way, by the end of the night, she had whispered his name so many times that she’d probably said it more than she’d ever heard her own in her entire life. 

It was only after she’d woken up in the morning that she realized that she had forced him to pull her hair, and told him to get on his knees. She’d slapped him and told him that she’d break his dick off. According to her memory of him curling forward while cursing in pain, she almost did because she insisted that she should ride him despite her extreme lack of experience. She was also sure that her ‘whispers’ were just her screaming and yelling anything stupid and embarrassing she could think of. 

Couple those memories with her sudden realization that Heather was going to kill her during her half asleep, mix between dream and thought state, and you have Veronica waking up with a sharp gasp and kicking JD in the shin. It was one of those breathless whispers when she bolted upwards. “Oh, my God.”

JD groaned, not appreciating the weird, early wake-up call. He covered his head with his pillow. Veronica looked over at him, fully remembering climbing into his window and then actually having sex with him. “Oh, my God.”

JD mumbled something into the mattress, which Veronica remembers tearing. Then she remembered that Heather was actually going to kill her. On Monday she’d have no one to sit with. “Oh, my God.”

He fully turned away from her, curling up in a futile attempt to go back to sleep. That’s when she remembered that her parents did not expect her to be gone that night. “ _Oh, my God._ ”

Suddenly, in what Veronica could only imagine as a very similar moment of realization, JD sat up. He looked at Veronica, eyes scanning her over and over again. It was like he wasn’t convinced that she was real. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’ve got to go. I’ve gotta explain everything to my parents. I’ve gotta - I’ve gotta kiss Heather’s ass,” She stood up, too focused on speed to think about the fact that she was naked in front of JD. Mostly naked, anyway. 

He also got dressed but in fresh, non-party-vomit clothes. “I thought we agreed you were done with Heather?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? A world without Heather, ha!” She sounded crazy, wildly getting dressed.

“Fine, but if you’re going to apologize then you may as well take enough time to be presentable first,” He gestured at her, unimpressed. “She’s probably not gonna get up very early if she’s so hung-over.”

“You’re right. I should go home first - oh, shit. I’m gonna have to walk -”

“Relax, I’ll be your chauffeur if you’d like.”

She stopped, smiling widely. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” He smiled back as if it were perfectly obvious. He chuckled. “I’m not just going to stand by, watching you run around like a headless chicken.”

And she kissed him because she guessed that it would be a normal thing to do. And she really wanted to. He was really nice. And cute. When would she find another guy like that? “Oh, and by the way, you were my first.” She patted his chest.

“Well, that explains why you liked it,” he mumbled. They laughed, and Veronica did that flirty thing where you bat the guy really lightly. 

Today was going to be fucking terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Overthinking: An Uneventful Saga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for heather's insults, school shootings, depression, bullying, suicide, murder, and child abuse. also jd, just huge yikes for jd. just its a mental breakdown okay?
> 
> Will JD fucking murder Heather Chandler? Read to find out!

Jason Dean liked to consider himself an enigma. A mystery, even. Mostly because he didn’t care to explain most of his private details to those unfortunate enough to talk to him. Minor elements such as his dad, his interests, and every other feature of his being didn’t seem to be worth divulging to just another face that would be forgotten in three weeks. Back when he thought that conversation was a good thing, he’d been talking to a group of students who thought it would be fun to hold a group therapy session. They went around the circle, talking about scenarios that JD couldn’t even picture. When it had finally gotten around to him, after he’d been building up the confidence to tell them about his problems, the session suddenly ended. They promised him that when they held another one, he’d get to talk first. He moved two days later, never actually getting to do the whole group therapy thing. He took it as some sort of sign.

A sign that he took so seriously that when he was court-ordered therapy, he just told them filler and lied about what was eating him. After he’d attended the mandatory sessions, he moved away immediately. The move wasn’t by choice for him, but neither was the therapy. Psychological evaluations that came bundled in with his trouble with the law always came up normal. Just fancy pieces of paper that screamed at the reader that it was JD’s fault and JD’s fault alone. Who could blame them for being right?

Apparently Bud Dean could because he’d reread the third one several times before glaring at the psychologist and yelling about how his son clearly belonged in some sort of facility. On the drive home, as JD sat in the back seat, deciding on what he’d wear to his trial, Bud told him that he needed to be zapped. It had been a violent assault. When they put him in juvie for the first time, they put him in a shirt different from the normal kids. Apparently, he was too violent to be put with the other inmates. But it was alright, he learned things in juvenile detention. 

He used to be a regular dink. A boy who stayed quiet and read every book he could get his hands on. He used to love school and go to band practice - he thought it was fun to play the saxophone. He learned magic. But he grew up and it all changed. To be honest, he really didn’t know who to blame for it. 

The trigger for the change in personality, fashion, and outlook was obviously his mother’s suicide. Not that she was great when she was around. She tolerated him on a good day. She was volatile and dissatisfied with every decision she’d ever made. When JD looked at his dad, he understood why. There was something off about Bud Dean, the violent profession, the interest in younger girls, the frequency of his drinking, and a criminal record JD had memorized backwards - all makings for a stellar dad, for the record. Maybe it was a genetic thing. Or maybe JD was a simple malfunction of what a human being was supposed to be.

Living life as God’s only mistake wasn’t all bad, depending on JD’s unstable mood. He categorized them as Others days, and Me days because it was always a bad day, it just depended on whether it was bad for himself or for others. Others days were violent and reckless. The type of day that made him get into fights, the type that made him go to protests and raves, the type that led to the highest chance of getting an STD. On the literal flip side, there were Me days that were mopey and dragged. Emotions kept on the inside, the kind that made him rip the veins from his arm or barely get out of bed. Breaking the tip of his pencil could make him break down sobbing on a Me day. 

Then there was a third kind of day. A nameless species of day that made him feel nothing at all. Those were the majority of days. He could only describe it as when the static in the back of his mind finally came to the front and blocked everything else out completely. The world drowned in raging quiet. 

He would wake up and be convinced that he was dead. Like he was never a human being at all. In order to try to better fit into the odd standard set by his own brain, he came up with ‘quirks’ to make him feel like the blood under his skin was even real. Despite the intended effect, it only really made him act like a John Green love interest. He wrote using all lower case letters to make some sort of stance on arbitrary importance, he spoke in a weirdly old fashioned dialect to send a message about modern times or something and dressed like puke come to life as a stance against the norm. What an exciting person. 

He didn’t sleep much. His brain was always working against him, always loud and full of stupid shit that made him sound even dumber than he was. His head was loud, too loud. That must’ve been why he’d listened to loud, angry music. Classic and new-age punk. Screaming. Anger to be directed at something. Someone he could finally blame, and that was the system. Everything had to be loud, otherwise, he’d be stuck with himself. Everything had to be quiet enough that people left him alone, otherwise, he’d be stuck in prison. 

Weird pictures, weird sounds, weird thoughts, and weird nightmares. It all made for excellent poems that eventually became rambles that took up seven pages. Or maybe great inspiration for patches, buttons, and scribbles on a t-shirt. And if he was feeling particularly stupid, maybe a scribble on his thigh. 

All of that useless shit being said, when being around Veronica actually made him feel some real serotonin, it was a big deal. And why wouldn’t she ignite something in him? She’s pretty and cute. And she doesn’t care about everything else. And he didn’t care about anything else. Not with her. Not when she existed. Add another item to the list of questions he can’t answer: why was Veronica so great?

Too soon to tell if there was something there, but too late to not be head-over-heels for her, he didn’t want to introduce her to his father. He didn’t want to dash his chances just yet. Being stuck in his home with her after they’d obviously had sex was not ideal. After stuttering dumbly about how it would be better if she and his dad didn’t interact, Veronica offered to just climb back out of his window. It sounded kind of dangerous, but he trusted her evaluation of her athletic ability. 

That done, it was now time for him to leave the house through the front door. Thump down the stairs, run like Hell for his jacket. “‘Hey, Dad, forgot to warn you that I’d be bonin’ loud as fuck last night,’” Bud Dean nattered, proud of the humiliation with a smug little chuckle.

Stiff as a board. He said whatever he had to. “‘Oh, that’s okay, kiddo. Probably would have just made me jealous considering all I have is my left hand and demolition tapes.’” Just because it was a defense mechanism didn’t mean that it couldn’t be funny. Bud laughed. JD put on his coat, forcing a bitter laugh. “I’m heading out.” He left without waiting for his father’s response. 

The air outside was cold and crisp, it woke him up faster than any cup of coffee ever could. Not that he wasn’t already awake, now he was just reminded of the misery of actually living. Ohio was pretty far north, and in early spring, it wasn’t warm by any stretch. Having always hated cold weather and appreciating the silhouette, JD had enough jackets to exist at a normal temperature. That didn’t make cold-weather any less annoying.

Veronica stood in his driveway, her dress was tight and short. It was a pretty dress, classic and plain. A timeless sort of dress aside from its exposure of skin. Not that JD minded the view. Over her dress was an old looking jacket, worn from the years of cold wind. She didn’t have shoes or tights or anything to keep the bottom half of her warm or protected. JD frowned, having thought nothing through, as usual. Why hadn’t he offered her some of his clothes to wear? 

She was relieved to see him, and, gee, JD maybe you could’ve been a little bit faster. A new face, a charming smile. Partial smile, effortless, so handsome yet yielding. Or some shit. Anything that made him more appealing than he actually was. What a waste of oxygen. “Give me the directions to your place and then what’d you say we get a wiggle on.” It wasn’t really a question like it was supposed to be. His voice came out steely and uncomfortable thinly veiled by a cool enthusiasm. It was a rock smothered in whipped cream, really not a convincing cake. Idiot. 

Either way, Veronica laughed, “Alright.” JD unlocked the car door, wondering if he should open her car door. Being a feminist, no, but trying to be charming in front of Veronica, soft maybe. Would he be an asshole if he didn’t? He was already an asshole, so did it really matter? “Aw,” He heard Veronica sigh. “We aren’t going to take your bike?” He looked at her in what he hoped came off as a polite sort of bemused expression. 

“It’s a tad early for that. That’d be loud, you could burn your leg, and I’ve only got one helmet,” And they’d have to be pretty intimately close for the duration of the ride - which was a gray spot for JD. Would that be normal? How was he supposed to act around her? Even though he’d been in somewhat similar situations before, he never really cared about it before. That sounded cheesy like a fucking Hallmark movie. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your hair anyway.” He added. Magically, he sounded like an asshole again. 

Veronica didn’t seem to mind. There was a possibility that she was a little put out by not being allowed to ride the motorcycle. “This makes more sense, I’ll be able to give you directions while you drive.” That would’ve been a good point to bring up, and was honestly the reason that JD had decided to take his dad’s car in the first place. 

He spun the key around his finger and decided that it was obnoxious immediately after. “You don’t wanna drive?” Eyes like plates, Veronica stared at JD as if asking him if he were serious. 

“I’m good,” She climbed into the passenger seat (without JD opening the door). “I’d feel really bad if I scratched up your car.” With a loose shrug, JD sat at the drivers.

“I wouldn’t,” He said simply, and as if on cue, Veronica put on her seat belt. 

Muscles tense, he was grinding his teeth, randomly tense as he pushed on the petal. Fast - he drove fast. In the corner of his eye, Veronica pointed directions while grinning. As far as he could tell from his years of observation, teenagers liked fast. Any sort of rush that overcame the dreary drudgery of sentience was a craving of that point in their life. Their brain was wired wrong, nothing was fun unless it was emotional or adrenaline. They put down one thing and moved to the next. They fell in and out of love fast, and they fell in and out of opinions fast.

Emotions were all or nothing, and it was so easy to ruin your entire life before it had even really started. In short, teenagers were stupid. Adults would look down their noses at something determined only by biology and shitty parenting. JD had never been in JD’s control, everything he had was determined by his parents. Their genes, the way they raised him, his point of reference for what was normal. Yet, Bud Dean would turn around and blame it all on his son. Which is top tier denial and delusion of that was even true, nature versus nurture and all of that. 

Ever since he was young, JD was called mature for his age. That wasn’t a good thing, a child should be a child. It’s a written, tried-and-true method of growing up. Skipping the crucial step of being a child before being an adult was surely a sign that something was wrong. When he was fourteen, he’d decided that he may as well act his age and did some dumb shit. Everyone called him dumb and immature, and that felt repetitive and unfair. They labeled a physically and mentally immature age as immature and then were offended by it. How could he learn without mistakes?

Not that he made mistakes to learn. They weren’t really mistakes at all. He did things that were stupid for that weird feeling that came after. For all of the voices inside and outside that told him what to do, whether he was disobeying or not varied. Disobedience felt like the way to determine an identity. It really didn’t despite the desire. It was a miracle that JD was still alive at this point. 

“Pull in here,” Veronica said smoothly. As soon as the car was parked, she got out, instructing him to wait because she’d be out soon. JD did as he was told, he turned off the car, not being one to idle. He’d been involved in too many movements against it. 

Protests and movements, that together stuff. Change and an attempt to control the uncontrollable. Pretending that the external problems were to blame for his internal problems. JD couldn’t name his problems because that involved sitting down and examining himself, and that sounded like a real drag. And was a drag when he did it in random bursts on super sad days or during weird showers. 

That wasn’t the case with outside problems. Like the helium crisis, factory farming, reforming prisons, or just generally hating stuff that he could yell about. Like celebrity culture and rich people and racism and shit. Long story short, he’s an anarchist now. The government controlling stuff was something he couldn’t get behind, quite frankly. He really did have a problem with authority.

Which is why he turned off his car, including the heating. He decided to smoke a cigarette while he waited for her to come back, knowing that she would probably take a while. Which wasn’t a good thing to be doing in any stretch, but was a gnarly habit to break. Habit probably wasn’t the right word - he meant addiction. Addiction for sure. It wasn’t good for the air, for his hair, for his skin, for his breath, and there was also this shit about causing lung cancer - not fun. However, he was already too deep, so who cared anyway. 

He’d been smoking since he was eleven, and started chain-smoking when he was fifteen. Surprisingly, he wasn’t as bad as he used to be. It was smart of him to stop smoking as much as he did because cigarettes were expensive. Illegal hobbies were the hardest to have, with the fake ID and all that jazz (smoking probably didn’t count as a hobby). However, he can proudly say that with all of his piercings, he was hardly ever carded anymore. 

Daydreams, depressing childhoods, and addictions aside, eventually Veronica reemerged from her front door. Not that the wrinkled, sweaty party dress that smelled like vomit wasn’t flattering on her, but a loose, blank t-shirt tucked into a tight mini skirt paired with beaten up ballet flats was a stark improvement. She’d done her make-up and styled her hair. It was this hung-over fashion, preparation for an audience with the Queen of Nothing. 

“That took way longer than it should have,” She admitted nervously. JD vaguely responded that it was really not a problem. Hypnotically, her hair bounced when she shook her head. “No, really. I had to put everything on hold to explain to my mom that I’d had a sleepover with Heather and that I’d forgotten some of my stuff there, so I had to go get it. Which is a perfect cover-up if I do say so myself.” She laughed. “And I, myself, _do_ say so.”

JD snorted. “So pleased with lying to your own flesh and blood. Scandalous, V,” he gutted.

“They’re only half-lies,” She defended, bumping his arm lightly. “I _did_ have a sleepover, and I _am_ going to Heather’s.”

“You’re right,” He smirked. “Hardly a deception.” Being amicable was usually a chore, but not with Veronica. Being with Veronica was a whole different experience. With her, he felt easy and natural, close to happy. It was probably what dying felt like if JD had to guess.

“So where is Heather’s house?” JD finally asked because it would be important information to have if he was actually going to take Veronica there. In his mind, he pictured it on top of a green, flowered hill that dropped off into a steep cliff with sharp rocks at the bottom. It was a huge Victorian mansion, almost a castle, but instead of gargoyles there were just busts of Heather and there were statues in the garden of her as well. The whole thing was Barbie-pink, accented with the blood of her enemies. 

“Right,” Veronica pointed. She pulled a face. “Right as in the direction, not like ‘right, you need that,’ like I -” Her shoulders slumped. “Go that way. I’ll give you more directions as we go.”

JD laughed softly to alleviate her probable discomfort. He assumed that going to see Heather was slightly uncomfortable for her. Especially after the events of last night. And especially, especially because she has to apologize. Apologies will never be easy. All of that was good and fun, metaphorically speaking, but JD couldn’t figure out why Heather even mattered. She was just a bitch convinced that she possessed the divine right to treat everyone else like sub-humans. She was angry, manipulative poison. A human embodiment of a problem. JD sighed. 

He couldn’t ask Veronica about why she even really wanted Heather’s approval. Not yet. Not after the distant, awkward answer, he’d received the night before. They honestly didn’t even know each other. He couldn’t expect her to bare her entire soul to him when he didn’t actually know if he could call her a friend. There had been no expression of anything pertaining to the nature of their relationship. Or maybe there had been. Being as emotionally stunted as he was, JD really missed a lot. 

Yet, JD already felt an attachment to Veronica. Like he’d been chained to her, forced into her gravitational pull. Not that she was excessively big or anything, she just had a pull like gravity. Nevermind. Analogies, metaphors, poetry, art, science - nothing could explain how he felt about Veronica. 

Because teenagers were fast. And JD was fast, obviously arriving sooner than at Heather’s humble abode faster than Veronica had hoped. It wasn’t a hot pink Victorian mansion overlooking the pitiful peasants below, but it was a large house. It was a normal, cookie-cutter, high-end neighborhood house, and it was almost as if this house alone didn’t qualify as a new circle of Hell. Veronica turned to look at JD. “You can leave now, I -” 

“Are you sure? I’ll even come in with you if you want,” He offered, trying to be helpful. Veronica did in fact need help, probably. Plus, it was nice not being at home. It was nice to pretend that Bud Dean didn’t exist. And it was _intoxicating_ to spend time with Veronica.

“You’d really do that for me?” She sounded too surprised about it. JD just nodded, getting out of the car. As soon as he was standing up completely, preparing to shut his door, Veronica pounced on him. She hugged him so tightly that he swore that he could hear his bones break. “Thank you so much - I mean it.” 

He pushed the butterflies in his stomach down and pulled the blood rushing to his face back to his heart. Utilizing the confidence of not just being considered a drunken fling, he strode to the front door. “And you’re sure she’s here? Not at the house that the party was at?” He didn’t know whose house that had been, just that it had been too close to his own house for comfort.

“She thinks it’s really tacky to pass out at a house party,” Veronica rolled her eyes. “But I think it’s just because she’s scared of being grounded.” Then she laughed, obviously finding the idea of Heather being scolded by her parents hilarious. It was almost kind of sad that Heather would be there, waiting for her in her own home would definitely be an effective intimidation tactic. 

“And her parents?” JD asked, preparing to use his best manners on whoever was a resident of the home.

Veronica opened the front door as if to demonstrate. “Gone. Every Saturday morning they visit her grandparents.”

“She doesn’t go?” JD wouldn’t.

“Not even when she’s not hungover,” Who could blame her? The elderly were a curse for the rest of society. But JD’s issues with old people could wait. Right now, Veronica needed emotional support. 

Veronica led him to the kitchen. “I think I’ll make her a hangover cure. As a peace offering.” Expressing his approval, JD nodded. He’d found it to be a fine idea for a peace offering, not that Heather deserved it. “But you know what would be funny?” Veronica smiled smugly. “We could put a huge phlegm glob in it. Each.” JD liked the idea of her little rebellion. 

“Or we could make a cocktail of chemicals under the kitchen sink and ding, dong, the wicked witch is dead,” He joked. Okay, half-joked.

“You’re not funny,” But she was amused. “How about we keep it legal? That okay with you, Sparky?”

“Alright, new plan. How about I whip up a prairie oyster, we spit in it, and then you sing my praises?” JD offered.

“My hero!” Veronica posed dramatically. JD got to work with as much loving care he had when he prepared his dad hangover cures - not much. Scratch that, not any.

“One egg, some Worcestershire sauce, a little vinegar, a touch of hot sauce, tomato juice for extra class, and a sprinkle of pepper. Add a little booze and then it’s a cocktail,” He narrated his creation process, hoping to make it a teaching moment. He dumped ingredients into the cup unceremoniously, sacrificing a tomato for his efforts. Veronica watched him dreamily, twirling her hair, and obviously exaggerating her role of admiring him. 

He presented the glass to her. “One final touch,” Veronica said after wafting the putrid drink. Gracefully and delicately, she hocked a loogie into the mixture. After she handed him the cup, JD followed suit. Veronica held up the end product with morbid pride. “Magnifique!”

It was small and stupid, and _so_ immature, but, hey, fuck Heather. The two laughed briefly before Veronica motioned for JD to follow her. “Thanks for all of your help.” She said lowly, nervous as they approached the dragon’s lair.

“It’s been a pleasure,” JD replied softly. It was kind of nice to be appreciated, but he really hadn’t done that much. In fact, they hadn’t really done much at all, but it had still felt like breaking out of prison. Not that JD knew _anything_ about that.

Eventually, they arrived at a door painted red. Veronica stopped. “You wait out here.” It was barely audible. JD agreed. She continued. “I’ll try to be fast, but who knows what will happen?” She was worried, way too worried about the opinion of a sixteen-year-old girl. 

In an attempt to soothe her nerves, JD put a hand on her shoulder. It was a feather-light touch, fleeting - not at all like that unwelcome, unwarranted squeeze that every weird adult does when they’re convinced that they’re a friend. They two shared a look before Veronica cupped his hand with her own. A beat passed and she turned away. She slipped in through the door. “Hey, Heather.” JD made himself comfortable as he listened to them next to the door.

“Aw, look what the cat dragged in,” Heather replied viciously. JD would be lying if he said that he wasn’t offended for Veronica. Probably cared more than Veronica herself did.

“I’m here to apologize,” Veronica said firmly. “And I brought a hangover cure.”

“Uh-huh, sure. You _totally_ didn’t spit in that.” JD quickly realized that Heather’s voice could be characterized by its self-importance. And it’s sarcasm. JD also realized that he was way too invested in their conversation.

“If you’re too easily grossed out to drink a prairie oyster, you could have just said so,” Veronica huffed. 

“Oh, hand it over,” Heather growled. JD was pleased with the childish prank and even felt immensely satisfied knowing that she had drunk it. Prairie oysters didn’t even help with hangovers. “About that apology?” Heather finally asked after the long pause for her to drink the concoction. 

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you and insulting you and I would like to take everything I said back. I love being friends with you.” JD rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted Heather to forgive Veronica. On one hand, he wanted all of Veronica’s endeavors to be successful. On the other hand, Heather really didn’t deserve Veronica.

“Great apology, but it could really use some work. If you want my forgiveness, beg for it.” Suddenly JD had made up his mind. Heather and Veronica really shouldn’t be friends.

Veronica laughed nervously. “Heather, we both said things that we regret, but I think that we can put -” Heather laughed - no, cackled. 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” She said incredulously. “Get down on your knees and beg.” JD regretted not filling that cup with bleach. Heather was one bitch who deserved to die. 

“Please, Heather. I’m really sorry - I really do want to be your friend,” Veronica _begged._ No doubt on her knees because apparently was so important, so far above the mortals that she’d earned literal worship. There are only around a thousand rants that JD could go on, but instead, he just took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. Please just take me back. Please?”

Heather’s smile could be heard through her voice. “Maybe. Hold on, let me get a video of you begging for David and Brad’s forgiveness.” A short pause, an intermission for JD to feel hatred pool up inside him. “Go. Tell Brad and David how you feel.”

And it was delivered with the slightest sarcasm but was still just as demeaning. “Sorry, guys. I’m really sorry. I hope you can forgive me for everything I said and did at the party. Please, forgive me?” 

“What do you guys think?” Heather laughed. “There! Was that so hard?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Then again, would it have been so hard to just shut up and spend some time with Brad?” Heather was just a dressed-up pimp when it came down to it, and JD knew a thing or two about pimps.

“Heather, he just wasn’t my type and I really -” Veronica attempted to explain.

“Yeah, I know your type is a fucking virgin with a shit fashion sense. And let me tell you something, Veronica, just because he’s a virgin doesn’t mean he’s a romantic. Just because he can’t dress himself doesn’t mean he’s artistic and counter culture.” JD decided that it was time to shut his brain off, and just let the next things he heard wash over him. He’d accept them and move on. “You’re type is guys who go by their initials because they think it’s mysterious and think that they’re cool because they have no friends. Your type is greasy bottom feeders who listen to My Chemical Romance and cry in the bathroom.”

“Heather, come on,” Veronica sighed. 

“And the worst part is that you actually talked to him. Oh, my God, it’s almost funny. Good luck convincing him to leave you the fuck alone after you realize he’s nothing special. The only special thing about him is his extra chromosome and the fact that he’s a closeted gay,” Heather laughed. “If you don’t get away from him soon he’s going to stick to you like a violent, school shooter leach. When he shoots up the school do you think he’ll warn you first? Do you think he’ll chicken out and shoot himself? Oh, my God, that’s funny. Do you think -”

“Heather, stop it. It’s not funny to joke about that kind of thing,” Veronica said. And it was dumb, but JD was disappointed that Veronica didn’t defend him. Even though Veronica wasn’t required to stand up for him, and Heather’s opinion on JD was totally worthless. Meaningless. He shouldn’t care and he didn’t care. Stupid.

“Have you heard what they’ve been saying about him? Apparently he’s some huge nerd who reads poetry. Fucking poetry! You know, I bet he’s just like Mrs. Phlegm - all about feelings and hippy shit. I also hear that he doesn’t have a mom, do you think she left because he’s _that_ insufferable?” And he could hear Veronica responding, but he really wasn’t listening to whatever it was because he was there. He was in the schoolyard back in Texas, being shoved to the ground as a kid told him that he was probably the reason that his mom had killed herself. That JD alone was the reason. He was in the kitchen when his dad screamed at him, face red from the rage and the alcohol. When Bud Dean said those same words. That it was JD’s fault. 

They say drunk words are sober thoughts. It was so genuine, not something that a parent just says to their child when they’re angry. Not something that can be taken back and forgotten. Not even the reason JD and Bud hated each other so much, but it definitely didn’t help. The worst part of it was that before anyone yelled it at him before anyone shoved him into the dirt, and before he had to tell the basics to a washed-up therapist, JD had already known that. She forced him to watch, she knew that he’d see, and she did it. She fucking hated JD. 

There were those nights, those quiet nights. The sheets were warm, and wet, whether it was by sweat or urine or some mixture of the two, and he knew what had happened. A nightmare, a failure of his bladder - it didn’t matter. He’d softly and carefully set his feet onto the floor below his bed, minding the dark and possibility of monsters. And there were always tears, so many. They flowed down and met at his neck. They dripped into his mouth, salty and thick. Quiet aside from sniffles and crickets and the occasional creak of the house or the screech of the wind. Or maybe it was just quiet. So quiet that he could feel it. He couldn’t see and he couldn’t hear. Every noise felt amplified and chilling. 

Small and slow, he’d toddle or stumble down the hall groping at any handhold. Once he had fallen over, curled into a ball, and cried in that hallway. He’d stayed up all night, and when he was discovered in the morning, no one acknowledged it. No one had said a word. But that didn’t matter. He'd walk to his parent’s room, slow and unsure. Moving so frequently left him totally helpless to the layout of the house, especially at night. When he finally reached the door. He’d knock on the door.

His knocks were nearly silent because when he knocked or cried too loud, he soon discovered that his dad would yell at him and force him to sleep in his bed. Or, in one particular case, outside. As he knocked he would also whisper a plea for his mother, but he was sure that it was so quiet that she’d never actually heard it. Some nights she’d actually come to the door and tiredly assist him. Other nights, she whispered for him to leave. Other nights she’d stayed awake wishing that he would just go away. On those nights he’d fall asleep slumped against the door, crying, knocking. 

His mother would sigh in annoyance and remove the soiled pajamas if that was the problem. She would throw them into the laundry basket and then replace them. Sometimes she’d just give him underwear and one of her shirts, other times she’d provide another pair of pajamas. But that didn’t matter. Then she would take him back to her bedroom, putting herself between him and his father. And then she would hug him from behind.

She would hug him so tightly that he could hardly breathe. She did this every time, and when she was done hugging him she would turn away breathing heavily as JD gasped for air. It was just a hug, he was so quiet, he never said anything. How could she have known that she would hold him so tightly around the chest that once he had bruises, and once he nearly passed out. It was a hug, and it had hurt so badly that on one night, as she hugged him, compressing him against her body, he’d said something. He’d figured it was just her way of expressing affection, her way of telling him that she loved him, so in order to let her know that he felt loved he forced out a choked, “I love you, too.” Immediately her grip loosened and she sobbed into his back. His nightshirt was soaked with her tears as he attempted to comfort her.

It was only when he retold the story to his friends a decade later that he’d realized that she’d been trying to kill him. He had to guilt his own mother out of killing him. But none of that mattered. Because she was fucking dead. He left her in fucking Texas. There was no heaven, but if there was she wouldn’t be there. Her hatred for her must have been some sort of testament to his character. Same goes for Heather. Who cared if Heather hated him, being hated by Heather was probably a good sign. 

“Look,” JD recognized Veronica’s voice. He tuned back into the conversation, wondering vaguely how long he’d zoned out for. “I’m sorry about all of that. Martha, JD, Brad, the puke - all of it. It won’t happen again, let’s just move past it. Water under the bridge, okay?”

“Okay,” Heather replied coolly. “You can get off of my floor now, and please get out of my house. I look hideous right now, and my head really hurts. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, and I’ll see you on Monday. Good-bye.”

JD straightened up, putting distance between him and the door. He shoved his earbuds in, turning on music. Trying to look super casual, like he didn’t nearly have a mental breakdown because of what Heather had said. When Veronica walked out she was redder in the face than when she had left. JD pulled out his earbuds, that weren’t even plugged into his phone. “Hey.” He said.

Veronica looked relieved. “Let’s go.” For the first time in his life, JD felt incredibly wrong for lying. He’d listened in on Veronic being tormented and had just hidden it. He felt gross. “Would you mind taking me home?” She looked at him, exaggerating a childish begging.

“Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. school, mental breakdown, writer's block, and my birthday all are happening or have happened. so oof. also I went super back and forth about this chapter. it's a weird one for sure.
> 
> Anyway, kudos and comments are my only sustenance. plus its my birthday kind of. so technically, you could say I deserve everything this world has to offer.
> 
> let me know how yall felt about jd's perspective. and just about how things are going. leave predictions and even suggestions if you feel so inclined.
> 
> also will someone tell me if any of this is actually funny. please. i dont know.


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